The Music`s Just Half The Fun At Symphony

November 10, 1985|Ken Kaye, Staff Writer

Whether you are cultured or not-so cultured, going to the symphony can be a lot of fun. Of course, it is a lot more fun if you are cultured; that way, you can sit through an entire concert without going stir crazy.

Now, take me. I am not exactly the dictionary definition of a ``cultured`` person. The last good movie I saw was Godzilla: 1985, and I rated it right up there with that unforgettable film classic, Eat My Dust. Nor do I truly appreciate the great composers. You can have Beethoven, Brahms and Bach. Give me Jimmy Buffett, the Beatles and Chuck Berry.

But I do enjoy a night on the town. So it was a particular delight, not to mention an educational experience, to attend the Philharmonic Orchestra of Florida at War Memorial Auditorium in Fort Lauderdale.

At first I thought I was in for a couple of miserable hours of strings and horns. But I quickly discovered a night of games and surprises.

For instance, upon arrival at War Memorial, I found the patrons playing a little game called ``Park In The Pasture.`` This is where you try to find dry pavement close in . . . but end up parking far away in a wet, grassy meadow.

Inside, I learned that you do not just go grab your seat. The proper way to attend the orchestra is to first crowd into the lobby, socialize and chat with friends.

One of the greatest thrills I have ever had came as they were herding people from the lobby to their seats: A loud bell went off -- three times. After I climbed down from the ceiling, I took my seat, too.

Once you are seated, you have a few minutes to glance at your glossy program and note the show opens with Szymanowski`s Concert Overture, Opus 12. Surprise, surprise. I had been under the impression that Szymanowski was the inventor of the snowplow, not a composer.

Anyway, Emerson Buckley, the conductor, walked on stage to uproarious applause. I have been told he is a great man, and I agree he must be. Anyone who can keep his arms flailing with such vigor for two hours certainly has my respect and admiration.

Next lesson: people at the orchestra are in no mood for joking around. Case in point: Buckley opened with the national anthem, at the end of which I said, a bit too loudly, ``Play ball!`` No one around me laughed.

From there, we heard a lot of Beethoven. Do not misunderstand me; I was not bored. But I can tell you this: there are 44 lights hanging from the ceiling, 14 emergency exits and 380 folding chairs at War Memorial.

During intermission, it was back to playing games. For the ladies, the game is called ``Charge The Restroom To Avoid The Long Line.`` For the gentlemen, it is ``Mill Around And Wonder What I Am Missing On Television.``

After the intermission, the Philharmonic launched into a spirited rendition of Dvorak`s Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Opus 88. At least a friend who accompanied me thought it was spirited: she started humming and tapping her feet to the music.

By the end of the concert, I took notice of the sweet sounds of the violins, the thunder of the timpani, the sad cry of the cellos and the brazen blast of the horns.

I also noticed the guy sitting to my left was chewing gum as a cow would cud, a woman in front of me was quietly nodding off and a guy behind me was furiously writing a music review for a newspaper.

The latter told me he gave the concert a ``pretty good`` review. And, so did I, quite honestly, because going to the symphony was a lot of fun. And, I must admit . . . the music wasn`t bad either.